


One of those Nights

by Rising_Phoenix



Series: Royale Instinct [2]
Category: Basic Instinct 2, Casino Royale (2006)
Genre: Adam is a little shit, Adam's questionable journalism, Established Relationship, Le Chiffre runs a crime syndicate, M/M, and is so done with Adam's shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22491958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/pseuds/Rising_Phoenix
Summary: Le Chiffre attends a poker game out of boredom and gets distracted by a certain waiter...
Relationships: Le Chiffre/Adam Towers
Series: Royale Instinct [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618213
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	One of those Nights

The man widely known as Le Chiffre sat on the chair he had been assigned to and looked at his opponent with a pleasantly bored expression, letting out a deep sigh.

The significantly overweight man was sweating, the eyes shifting nervously and panting like he had run a marathon and was not sitting at a poker table in a private club. Le Chiffre could not avoid a smile. The man was not even to be considered an opponent. Why he had agreed to take part in this game would remain a riddle for the rest of his days, but maybe, just maybe it was because the evening otherwise would have turned out even more boring than it was now.

There was no business deal to settle. There was no conference to attend. There was no phone call to make. And there was nobody to keep him company tonight but a drink and a good book. And just because he had nothing better to do, Le Chiffre had finally agreed the join this small tournament in this club that only granted access on invitation, and he already regretted it.

He for sure did not need the money. And he did for sure not need the company of sub-par players and the company was worse than an evening alone would have been, but he was nobody to skip out of a game one it had started, and so he alredy decided to finish the game and then return home, no matter how long it would take. At least he would be able to make connections with the gentlemen at the table, though he was very certain that the usage of the term “gentlemen” was very far stretched.

He had seen how the other men oogled the waiters and made crude remarks about the companions some of the other guests had brought, and Le Chiffre almost wished he could just get up and punch one of them, the overweight American with the definitely lack of manners, right into his stupid face.

Instead, he sighed and let his eyes wander throughout the club. The club was misty with the smoke of expensive Cuban cigars and the scent of even more expensive beverages, the aftershave and fragranes the guests wore heavy in the air. It did nothing good for his respiratory system, but so far he could avoid taking out his inhaler and help his breathing and he hoped it would stay that way. He hated to show weakness.

Again, he sighed and moved his index finger over the smooth surface of the cards that he had put in front of him, waiting for the game to progress, when his eyes fell on Valenka, who sat on a stool at the bar, one of the few women in the club after nobody had dared to disagree with Le Chiffre bringing his two closests assets with him, always following him like a shadow, and so far the beautfitul woman that many assumed was his lover, had looked slightly amused.

Now though, her eyes were widened in slight surprise and were fixed on something or someone behind him.

He frowned, waiting and not risking to show interest in anything else but the game by turning around and satisfying the hint of curiosity he felt.

“Mister Pears, your drink,” said a voice behind him, and Le Chiffre froze and blinked, now having Valenka's eyes on himself, who sensed that he had noticed something by now.

Before he could do something, someone moved past him and his eyes shifted for a moment to the side, scanning what was going on, and feel onto a young man who was dressed...well...in almost nothing.

The only clothing he wore were white arm cuffs and a white collar with a bowtie, combined with the tightest black leather pants he had ever seen and that left close to nothing to imagination. He carried a tray with drinks skillfully on one hand and sashayed with swinging hips through the chairs and put the ordered drinks in front of the guests, addressing every single one of them by name.

When he put down the glass of whiskey in front of the American, the man looked up and a grin appeared on his face that Le Chiffre did not like at all.

“And what do we have here?” The man said.

The waited smiled boyish and with a cockyness that let no doubt that he exactly knew what he was doing.

“Your drink, Mister Nichols,” he replied, the voice a sweet sing-song with a thick English accent that the American for sure would find appealing.

“Oh, the way I see it, you also brought a snack,” Nichols grinned, and it was a wonder to Le Chiffre that he was not openly drooling at the smooth chest that was displayed right in front of him.

So far, the young waiter had not noticed Le Chiffre, and was looking from eyes that were somewhere between blue, grey, and green and looked in this light a deep mossgreen, at Nichols, who Le Chiffre knew not much about other than he had been invited to the game by James, who was a mutual acquaintance. The boy had a beautiful face, almost too pretty to be that of a man, and a smile that was a little lopsided and made it even more charming.

His hair looked a little like an outgrown haircut and fell in soft and shiny waves around his ears and into his forehead. All over, he was a gorgeous sight, and looked at Nichols from eyes that were surrounded by thick, black lashes, that blinked at Nichols in a way that left no doubt that he was flirting with him.

And then, Nichols lifted a hand and put it without preamble on the nude, shaved leg of the boy, let it slip upwards until his hand cupped a firm and round buttock.

Le Chiffre reached into his pocket and took out his inhaler, took two deep breaths from it and then put the platinum aid onto the table.

The sound of the inhaler had distracted the boy though and now he looked at Le Chiffre, blinking a few times, the smile still on his face but without any movement.

“Uhm...if you may excuse me, Sir,” he said, eyes still of Le Chiffre while Nichols was still fondling his butt.

When he tried to move out of the other man's reach, Nichols grabbed him and pulled him onto his lap. The tray that carried two more glasses fell in a loud shatter to the floor.

“No, no. Don't leave yet, gorgeous,” Nichols cooed, his hand almost circling the small waist of the waiter and holding him very close to his body, moving in a way that left no question that he was grinding against him. “You're going to bring my luck, will you?”

“I said, excuse me,” the boy hissed.

“And I said you will bring me luck,” Nichols said, the voice suddenly hard and uncompromising.

The green eyes of the waiter were still looking at Le Chiffre, who took another dosage from his inhaler.

“He said he wants to leave if I'm not mistaken,” he said, his accent swinging in his voice.

“Who asked you of your opinion?” Nichols asked, and Le Chiffre raised a brow, not able to remember when the last time had been someone had been talking to him like that.

Kratt, who was standing right from Le Chiffre made a step forward, and he noticed that his bodyguard was tense and moved his hand to his pocket already, but Le Chiffre turned his head and shook it only once.

“That is not necessary,” he said, loud enough for everyone involved to hear.

“Nichols,” James, who had invited him to the game, said, blue eyes on the American. “You should maybe not talk like that to Monsieur Le Chiffre.”

Nichols's eyes widened and he stared at the man opposite the table.

“I...,” he stuttered and shoved the boy from his lap, who almost fell to the floor form the unexpected movement. “I apologize, I had no idea...”

“You should pay better attention,” James, former enemy and now business friend of Le Chiffre's said. “The next time he may will not call back his watchdog, and that could end in a very unpleasant situation.”

He winked at Le Chiffre, who looked at the waiter who cought his balance and chewed on his lower lip.

“Excuse me,” he said and hurried away, Le Chiffre's eyes only shortly following him.

Paying his attention again to the table, Le Chiffre smiled in a way that promised nothing good for those it was aimed at, as everyone who once had done business with him knew. Nichols though was unaware.

“To make this short,” Le Chiffre said. “All in.”

James looked first surprised, then in recognition, while Nichols stared at him, blinking.

“I'm out, sorry,” James chuckled. “Your win.”

Le Chiffre tilted his head in acceptance, while he still looked at Nichols, who looked at his deck, and then back again at the dark clad man who was intend to end the game, the only player who was still in except for himself.

“I...,” he said, feeling all eyes on him. “I'm out too.”

Le Chiffre nodded and smiled, pulling the poker chips closer and nodded towards Valenka, giving her a sign to collect for him, while he got up, putting his inhaler back into his jacket pocket, while James grinned.

“Go, get him,” the Englishman said and Le Chiffre did not grace his words with a reply, instead he whispered something to Kratt's ears and went to the back of the club, finding his way through a hallway to a backroom, where he found what he had been looking for.

The waiter was standing at a dressing room table, leaned forward, hands on the table, and was taking deep breaths, not noticing someone had followed him, and only when Le Chiffre made a sound, he looked up and saw the reflection of the other man in the mirror in front of him.

“Explain,” Le Chiffre said.

“How about, good evening?”

Le Chiffre's brows went up.

“I don't think a good evening will do.”

“I think it would.”

“I asked you to explain yourself.”

The waiter turned around, leaned against the table and nestled at the collar that was scratching the skin of his neck.

“Uhm...”

“You said you would be working longer tonight,” Le Chiffre said, making a step closer.

“I did, I mean I do? It's not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?”

“Like I'm working?”

Le Chiffre was now so close that the other felt his breath on his skin and he looked up at the taller man.

“Working.”

“Yes, Jean. Working,” he said. “You know, that thing that normal people do for money. That is the stuff on your bank account that is multiplying itself by the hour? Other people actually work for that, not like...”

“I am working for my money. For our money, Adam,” Jean said. “I would really appreciate to know what in God's name you are doing here.”

“That fat guy? Nichols?”

Le Chiffre nodded.

“Human trafficking,” Adam said. “Boys, young men. Before you had to distract me I was so close to getting his attention.”

“Oh, you had his attention just fine. You also had his greasy fingers on some body parts that are mine.”

Adam sighed and leaned towards Jean, who sneaked an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

“I don't like you being in danger,” Jean said.

“So close,” Adam whispered.

“You want him gone? He will be gone.”

Adam rolled his eyes and pushed Jean away from him.

“I don't want him gone, you moron. I want his organization unmasked. I'm a fucking journalist, that's what I do!”

“Have James look into it,” Jean suggested. “If that man is a trafficker, it is too dangerous for you.”

“Once upon a time you were too dangerous for me, and see where I am now,” Adam couldn't help grinning. “Married to one of the most dangerous men of Europe, no, of the world. Sometimes...”

He leaned closer again and pressed a short kiss to Jean's lips.

“Sometimes?”

“Sometimes I wonder why I married you. You're such a distraction for my work.”

Jean Duran looked down at the skimpy shorts his husband was wearing.

“You are looking like that, and I am distracting you? You shaved your legs.”

“Hmm,” Adam agreed. “Very distracting. And I had to, for the job. You like it?” He sighed when Jean's healthy eye grew a little darker than usual, and then added: “Okay, let James have a look in this, I'll talk to him. Having a former double-O agent for a best friend must be good for something. Can you take me home now? I really want to get out of these shorts. And I'd like you out of that suit.”

Le Chiffre smiled.

It was just one of those nights that ended in an unexpected way.

One of those nights that began boring and ended with the promise of something very different.

Just one of those nights when you were married to Adam Towers.


End file.
